


playing with the devil

by sadcrabby



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Archangel!Nijimura, Demon!Akashi, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadcrabby/pseuds/sadcrabby
Summary: His eyes settle on a name embroided with gold and it’s the last thing that is ingrained into his mind for the rest of the night: Akashi Seijuro.





	playing with the devil

**Author's Note:**

> based off kyunyo's drawings yet again --> https://twitter.com/kyunyo/status/859103221737902080  
> I was writing this when I was supposed to be studying for exams what even are priorities
> 
> I've rewritten, re-edited and read this so many times over I have no idea what I've just written so I apologise for any mistakes deklw;fhjw writing is a blessing and a pain to me

Nijimura is beyond exhausted and he’s still expected to carry out whatever the Head Court has planned for him. It’s a torturous four in the morning and he had been already assigned the task of tracking down a newly acquired target by the Head Court and as much as he wanted to decline (he already had enough on his plate, he still had to find and capture that atrocious Haizaki, he was the worst) he knew had no choice but to accept the task seeing as he wanted to repair his reputation after a few skirmishes with the mortals when he was in his human form, and even then the Head Court still had threatened to take away his hard-earned rifles if he proceeded to ignore the responsibility to live up to their standards of being an archangel. And so, he forces himself to accept the job much to his growing dismay. Nijimura doesn’t know whether obtaining the status of archangel was such a good idea after all. Sure he got better guns and weaponry and the cool stuff normal angels couldn’t ever dream to get their hands on, but it was too late before he came to the dawning realisation that, past the neat upgrades on his weaponry and the pride he feels, he had a lot more responsibilities ready to swarm him like the plague itself (and he knew exactly what the plague did; he personally had to deal with the demons who brought it upon the Europeans. Haizaki and a bunch of his goons apparently thought it was _fun_ to terrorise the mortals just because he thought they were boring). 

He’s never had a break ever since the promotion of his rank. The Head Court were really big assholes. 

That night, he glides through the night sky where the stars cloaked within the expanse of indigo shades display their lights upon silvery palms, and as much as he wanted to admire the night time scenery laying before his eyes, he forces himself to stay alert despite the fatigue weighing heavy on his eyelids and proceeds to roughly skim through his target’s information, the paper flapping about frantically as the air buffets him with frigid winds. His eyes quickly flick through the target’s physical characteristics list but he decides against reading the crowded text that glares back at him against the white of the sheet, after all he is too tired to care about that crap; he might as well look at whatever available photographs they had given him along with the paper. Rummaging his hands through his pockets, his hand eventually closes around— whoops, he forgets that there’s a grenade inside—before his fingertips snatches up a crumpled photograph. He brings it to his face, trying in vain to flatten the multitude of creases and deep wrinkles that had developed productively within the suffocating space of his pocket, before he properly examines the photograph. 

He narrows his eyes in an attempt to discern the faded details of the photograph. In what looked to be an alleyway stood a figure hidden in the refuge of the shadows. He can tell that the figure is male and has the distinct trademark horns that demons always bore on their heads, but the blurry haze over the photograph makes it hard to distinguish any more important details and he’s kinda pissed at whoever printed the shitty copy of the image. There’s one thing Nijmura can say for certain though.

The demon’s hair and eyes held the colours of a blood moon.

.  
.  
.

It’s been two weeks of ending up in dead ends holding nothing but frustration and zero clues leading to the whereabouts of the target so Nijimura decides to instead attempt to track down and capture Haizaki, but of course that ends in failure as well. In fuming frustration, Nijimura walks down the street, kicking a stray piece of plastic in an attempt to release his temper. He’s exhausted to the bone after the brief skirmish with Haizaki and damn he had wasted a bunch of ammo on that silver haired bastard; the guy was really fast on his feet, and Nijimura thinks that he seriously needs to keep track of the bullets he’s using up carelessly. He checks how many bullets his rifle still has, and shit, it’s empty. Stopping underneath a street light, Nijimura takes his time to stretch his wings, casting his eyes over them to see if there were any injuries that could hinder his flight, before preparing to fly off. 

He is thinking about reloading his rifle before doing so (after all, danger not only lurked on the ground; there were still the pesky devils that liked to attack random passerbys and they weren’t picky to who they would attack, whether the passerby be it an angel or demon) when he notices something scurry across the road toward the street he was on. His nerves spike into action and his limbs tense up but the approaching adrenaline soon subsides when he realises it was just a cat. The feline pads its way up to him with nimble paws as it blinks at him with curious eyes, and Nijimura briefly wonders how it can see him, after all he is a supernatural being, but he recalls that cats always had a knack for sensing the enigmatic unknowns so it isn’t exactly abnormal. Crouching down, he can see that the feline was quite a beautiful thing up close, with earthy brown eyes and sleek black fur, the animal looks healthy enough to belong in someone’s household. Nijimura is thinking about perhaps dropping the feline off near a vet and he’s about to pick the animal up when his eyes catches the way the cat’s eyes shift in colour, and it’s captivating to see the warm brown start to blend into the brightest shade of blood moon red—

And that’s when his heart stills and plummets into his stomach and the subsiding adrenaline from before kicks into him full speed. His nerves are hit with an onslaught of alarm and awareness and he jumps back up, standing on his feet before he summons his rifle from within the cross pendant hanging from his necklace and the weapon proudly materialises in his hand. He swings it around so that the tip rested on the cat’s forehead faster than he could count to three and that is when the streetlight stutters off, flickering madly as if the light within the glass was convulsing in on itself. It’s a few seconds later until the streetlight switches back on, once again illuminating the street and Nijimura is left staring awkwardly at the empty spot the feline had just been occupying.

“You have fast reflexes. If it weren’t for them, you could’ve had your head rolling on the pavement by now.”

Nijimura casts his eyes to the direction of the voice and he finds a figure hanging upside-down from the streetlight with their legs hooked over the metal length, a red cloak topped with maroon feathers wrapped around their body, and Nijimura associates the image with that of a bat. He squints past the white blinding light and, with his eyes, traces the distinct shape of twisted horns protruding out of the figure’s head, the ivory features gleaming threateningly. But the most striking features is the figure’s vibrant red hair and eyes; they particularly stand out well against the lamp’s light and he wonders how this demon has remained so long In the shadows sporting a colour like that. That’s when the information stored in his head clicks into formation and Nijimura suddenly realises that this is the newly acquired target he has been trying to track down for the past two weeks. It’s infuriating to think that his target had actually chosen to come to him and not the other way round. Nonetheless, it doesn’t matter now and Nijimura aims his rifle towards the figure’s head, hoping to deceive the demon into thinking that the weapon was still full with ammo in order to have him surrender, but the demon remains hanging there, swaying contently to a silent rhythm. 

“That is quite the remarkable weapon you have there. Too bad it is empty.” The demon replies coolly and, as if to mock Nijimura, stares straight into the barrel of his rifle. 

Nijimura blinks in confusion but he doesn’t lower his weapon. Even if it were empty, he can still utilise the weapon as some sort of shield against potential incoming attacks. He asks, “How did you figure out my bluff?”

“I was observing your fight with Haizaki from before,” The demon pauses in thought before he adds, “To tell you the truth, I’ve been observing you for quite a while actually. It was quite amusing to watch you struggle with trying to find me those past weeks.” 

So his target had been watching him this entire time even before Nijimura knew it. Something cold runs down his spine in the form of a shiver and he stifles the urge to stiffen with rigid tension. He can’t show any display of weakness and if he does, he knows very well from first-hand experience that demons are extremely agile and flexible on the ground, after all they were incredible predators, and he would have his throat cut open in one go in no time if the demon decides to attack while his mind is drifting out of focus. Nijimura knows he can exploit the other’s disadvantage though by taking off into the air where demons had limited range but with his opponent analysing every minuscule detail that could give way to when he would take off, it was a deadly risk that could fatally end in death if the demon takes the opportunity to attack while he's midway in taking off and he really doesn’t want to tempt fate as much as he already did. So Nijimura decides to still the creeping fear trying to steadily carve its way into his being and focuses on the subject at him. 

“I was getting bored seeing you try to track me down you see, so I decided to finally show myself to you,” The demon says and Nijimura thinks that he is mocking him but his tone is only partially teasing with a tinge of playfulness decorating the edge of his voice, “Quite interesting how the predator has somehow become the prey, is it not? You angels are becoming more incompetent it seems.”

Now the demon is starting to really grate on his nerves. Nijimura grabs the grenade from his pocket and hurls it upwards toward the hanging figure out of tempermatic impulse. He can feel the sheer force of the throw that leaves from his fingertips and the grenade slices through the air with the lethal speed and precision of a bullet and Nijimura is certain that it will make contact with the demon. The grenade explodes violently when it reaches the other, jarring the street with tremors that shakes the street and miniature fractures start to web over the concrete pathways. When the smoke dissipates and is picked apart by a small gust of cold air, it reveals the streetlight lying in a depressing heap of blackened metal and, much to his dismay, the demon isn’t amongst the burnt wreckage. 

“You know I’ve never met an angel, much less an archangel, who resorts to this much violence.” 

Nijimura whips around and he sees the demon perched comfortably on a fence. He grits his teeth and says, “What’s it to you?”

“I was just thinking whether you really suit the role of an angel.” The demon replies and his eyes gleam over with an eerie light, “I’ve been told to tell you that perhaps you should become one of us.”

Nijimura arches an eyebrow and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or just be utterly confused. He decides to go with the latter, “Huh?”

“You see, I’ve been assigned to observe you and I must say you could potentially be a great asset for our side, Nijimura-san,” The demon says with an intoxicating smoothness and Nijimura can sense the manipulative tone skillfully crafted and weaved through his words like invisible thread. Nijimura is curious on how the other knows of his name but again, demons always had unknown ways of getting the information they desired, whether he liked it or not. The demon continues to speak, “Your strengths do not belong with the angels; neither does your rough personality have any place with them.”

Nijimura finds it funny that the demon is trying to win him over with mere words, even if they were tactfully crafted into tools of manipulation. He’s been trained against this sort of trickery for so many decades and there’s no way this demon has any chance of convincing him to join them. He’s had a number of them try to recruit him in the past, they had been attracted to his rough ways and unnatural violence after all, but he’s now developed an immunity that he’s hardly affected.

“Do you think you can just try to talk me into joining you guys? Your words may have some effect on others but they ‘re not going to work on me.” Nijimura smirks, expecting to see the redheaded demon baffled. 

On the other hand though, the demon doesn’t look fazed at all. Instead, the demon lightly says, “No, I didn’t think they would so that's why I'm going to do this."

Nijimura sees the demon vaporise into black mist before reforming in front of him and he almost stumbles back in alarm. He catches himself before he trips over his own feet and he’s about to defend himself from whatever upcoming attack the redhead has planned for him, but fails to do so when a kiss catches him on his lips. The shock of it all causes his rifle leave his hand and it clatters ungracefully against the hard pavement. It isn’t until moments later that he feels slender arms wrap around his neck and a lithe body pressing up against his that he realises he’s actually _kissing_ a _demon_ and as much as he is supposed to be repulsed by it, it’s so fucking hard to snatch himself back when it was this intoxicating and sensual. His mind is filled with fog and Nijimura finds his hands reaching for the waist of the demon but stops when the other’s lips suddenly leaves his and Nijimura’s senses are left in an unexpected haze. He watches the demon slip a small rectangular piece of paper into his hand before stepping back. 

“You’re cute,” The demon says and there’s a coy smile on his face, “Call me if you’re interested?” The demon gives him one more fleeting smile and a wink before he vanishes, the dark mist whisked away by the wind where it blends into the black covers of the night.

Nijimura is still trying to process the events in his head but his brain refuses to cooperate and short circuits instead, heat rising to his face and suddenly the air feels warm despite the chilliness of the night’s air. He lifts the paper slip to his face and for a moment, his eyes bug out because there _really is_ a phone number right there, displayed in fancy font and a hand-written message drawn perfectly in elegant cursive underneath the set of numbers, and it reads ‘ _I’ve liked you for a while, please go out with me? I promise it's not that bad down here in Hell._ ’. Nijimura bites back an involuntary smile at the last comment. In his entire lifetime (and it’s a rather long lifetime; about a few centuries or so) he’s never had a demon of all things actually hit on him and now there’s a fleeting thought that passes through his mind and it briefly wonders if he should join the demons after all (And no— it isn’t because he finds the demon rather cute now and that he wants to meet him again, he’s wondering if he should become a spy and see the on goings of the demons’ empire— It’s definitely not because of that beautiful redheaded demon). 

He examines the paper again and this time, his eyes settle on a name embroided with gold and it’s the last thing that is ingrained into his mind for the rest of the night: Akashi Seijuro.


End file.
